Bardell v. Pickwick

At the last interview, at Perker’s, when the costs were paid, one might have expected Mr. Pickwick to behave with a certain disdainful dignity. He was beaten and had paid over the stakes, and could afford to treat his enemy with contempt. Not so. The partners held out the olive branch by alluding to the way they had passed by his unmannerly attacks on them. “I beg to assure you, sir, I bear you no ill will or vindictive feeling for sentiments you thought proper to express of us in our office,” and the other partner said, “I hope you don’t think quite so ill of us, etc.” This was rather gentlemanly and becoming. One offered his hand. But Mr. Pickwick broke out in a perfect fury. They had assumed a tone of forgiveness which was “an excess of impudence.” He had been “the victim of their plots and conspiracies.” They had imprisoned and robbed him. It was “insolent familiarity.” At last he said, “You are a well-matched pair of mean, rascally, pettifogging robbers.” This sentence he repeated three times, and the words “Robbers” he shouted after them many times over the stairs.

Sharping attornies! Why, a real sharping firm would have forced from their client advances of fee, “cash out of pocket,” have made her give a Bill of Sale on her lease and goods, and have fairly stripped her of everything before the case began. Of the damages – had they got them – she would have seen but little.

The Cognovit that was extracted from Mrs. Bardell was an acknowledgement, as we have seen, which entitled them to enter up judgment just as if a trial had taken place. In the Oxford great Dictionary, it reads quaintly to find Mrs. Bardell’s cognovit quoted as an illustration of the legal meaning.

The Turnkey, on her arrest, had told Sam that she had been brought to the Fleet, “on a Cognovit for costs,” Sam imparted this news to Job Trotter, and sent him off, hot foot, to Perker in Montague Place. This outcast, was able to tell him, “it seems they got a Cognovit out of her for the amount of the costs, directly after the trial!”

Boz, on this occasion, gives us a happy glimpse of Solicitor life.

Mr. Perker had a dinner party that day, which was certified by the lights in the drawing-room windows, the sound of an improved grand piano, and an improveable cabinet voice issuing therefrom; and a rather overpowering smell of meat which prevaded the steps and entry. In fact, a couple of very good country agencies happening to come up to town at the same time, an agreeable little party had been got together to meet them, comprising Mr. Snicks the Life Office Secretary, Mr. Prosee the eminent counsel, three solicitors, one commissioner of bankrupts, a special pleader from the Temple, a small-eyed peremptory young gentleman, his pupil, who had written a lively book about the law of demises, with a vast quantity of marginal notes and references; and several other eminent and distinguished personages. From this society little Mr. Perker detached himself on his clerk being announced in a whisper; and repairing to the dining-room, there found Mr. Lowten and Job Trotter looking very dim and shadowy by the light of a kitchen candle, which the gentleman who condescended to appear in plush shorts and cottons for a quarterly stipend, had, with a becoming contempt for the clerk and all things appertaining to ‘the office,’ placed upon the table.

‘Now Lowten,’ said little Mr. Perker, shutting the door, ‘what’s the matter? No important letter come in a parcel, is there?’

Do we not seem to be present? We can never pass by Russell Square without calling up the scene. Note, too, the components of that legal dinner. Poor Sir F. Lockwood used to declare that he relished “Mr. Prosee, the eminent counsel,” more than any one of Boz’s legal circle. Yet these five words are all we know of him. But Sir Frank had imagination, and like some of us could read between the lines, or rather, between the words. Here was a prominent member of the Bar – was he K.C.? a triton among the minnows – therefore heading the table, listened to with reverence as he told of the judges, possibly of “old Stareleigh’s” last exhibition of petulance – “with it’s high time for him to go, etc.” But if he had not silk, why did not Perker retain him instead of the incapable Phunky, whom he did not ask on this occasion. “I gave the chap a good chance, but he destroyed my whole case!” “Catch me letting him put his legs under my mahogany.” Among the guests was that “small-eyed, peremptory young gentleman” – the special pleader’s pupil. What a capital sketch has Boz given of him. “He had written a lively book about the law of demises, with a vast quantity of marginal notes and references.” He had come with his teacher, who was no doubt highly deferental to Mr. Prosee, but enough, the peremptory young gentleman may have partly “tackled” the great man on some point of practice. The good country agencies must have gone home delighted with their evening.

But Mr. Prosee may be brought into somewhat closer communication with the case. At Perker’s dinner the gentlemen had gone up to the drawing room, when Perker was called down to hear the news of Mrs. Bardell’s arrest. Mr. Prosee was left expatiating to the circle on some beautiful “point,” and when Perker returned how likely that he should tell of his extraordinary client who had preferred to go to prison rather than pay the costs of a suit, “and here,” he would go on, “is the drollest sequel you ever heard, &c.”

“An odd unusual thing,” Mr. Prosee would say. “Plaintiff and Defendant, both in jail together! I never heard the like.” There would be much laughter at the novel situation. Thus the cognovit would come up and Mr. Prosee gravely say, “nothing will be done till an Act of Parliament is passed. The client should be protected by a fresh solicitor.” On which the young author of the treatise on Demises would have something to say in his best fashion; for the cognovit might be taken to be a sort of demise. “I doubt Mr. Prosee, if your suggestion would work. As I take it, sir, etc.”